


We Have Potential

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Is Alive, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Mates, Mentioned Kate Argent, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: Derek has finally been invited to the annual North American Werewolf Convention. The only problem? They’re expecting him to bring a significant other. He doesn’t actually have one, but everyone volunteers Stiles for the job.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A ‘fake dating-werewolf convention-bed sharing’ trope combination! Also an AU where nobody died and Derek leads the pack. This is the second longest thing I’ve ever written, whoo. This fic is complete, and I’ll be posting part two in a few days, when I’ve had time to edit it. THIS FIC IS NOW COMPLETE!

When Stiles usually strolls into the loft, Derek is either napping, cooking, or pretending he’s annoyed by Stiles’ arrival. (Stiles was never actually given a spare key, after all. But he also knows that Derek doesn’t really mind). This time is different, though.

Derek is too busy reading a letter to notice Stiles at all, his expression a strange mix of happiness and fear.

Stiles hesitates a few steps from the door, wondering if he’s intruding on something personal. Maybe he should just sneak back out. But Derek is looking more and more worried by the second, so Stiles stays right where he is. “Derek?” he tries cautiously. “Everything okay?”

Derek startles a little at his voice, looking up from the letter with wide eyes. “Stiles,” he says, swallowing thickly. “This is—I’ve been invited to speak at the North American Werewolf Convention. Apparently they’ve heard about me. Heard about what I’ve done.”

Normally that last sentence would be laden with guilt, but this time Derek actually sounds kind of…proud.

“They want me to be on the panels for Integrating Bitten Wolves and Managing Pack Dynamics,” Derek continues, looking like he doesn’t quite believe it.

Stiles thinks Derek would also be highly qualified for a panel on Dealing With Loss and Overcoming Hardships, if such a thing existed. “Are you going to go, then?” he asks instead.

“I—the last time my family was invited, I was too young to go. And now I really want to see what it’s like; I want to meet the other packs, and other werewolves. I’d love to go to as many of the talks and panels as I can, but—”

Stiles waits for the rest of that sentence, but it doesn’t come. “Is there…some kind of catch? What’s wrong?”

Derek points to the bottom of the letter. “They want me to bring my Mate or my Potential.”

Derek gives those two words a lot of weight, and Stiles finds himself intrigued. “What’s a Potential?”

“Adult werewolves, if they are without a Mate, are always aware of one or more people that they would be compatible with, usually determined by scent. This person is then courted by the werewolf, and is referred to as a Potential,” Derek says, with the air of someone reciting something by rote.

“So…they essentially want you to bring a date, then? What’s the problem with that?” Stiles asks. “Is your Potential someone random that you’ve never talked to before, like a grocery store clerk? Gas station attendant? The new librarian—”

“The problem is that I don’t _have_ one,” Derek cuts in, scowling. “But if I want to go, I have to take someone with me.” He sighs and looks down at the letter again. “I’m calling Scott.”

“Why, are you picking him?” Stiles asks, feeling irrationally hurt.

Derek sends him an odd look. “No, because I want him and the rest of the pack here, so we can discuss this together.”

“Good plan,” Stiles says, mollified. But he can’t help looking at Derek speculatively, wondering what, exactly, it means that he _doesn’t_ have a Potential at all.

 

*

 

It’s summer and they’re all on break from college, so the rest of the pack come over right away, with the exception of Allison, who’s doing survival training in the woods with her dad. This isn’t an emergency, so they don’t call her in.

Derek waits until everyone is settled comfortably, then explains the whole situation.

“So, since I don’t have a Potential,” Derek says, and Stiles doesn’t miss the sad look Scott sends Derek’s way at that. “I’ll need a…pretend one. Just for the convention weekend.”

“Okay?” Isaac says, looking unconcerned. “Just pick someone from the pack, that’ll make it easy.”

Derek nods. “That’s why you’re all here. So we can decide who it should be.”

To Stiles’ surprise—and evidently Derek’s, too—everyone immediately points at him without hesitation.

“Scott, why do you think Stiles would be the best choice?” Derek asks curiously.

“He loves research, so I know he’ll bring back a lot of good information for the rest of us to learn from. Also, it’d give him a chance to wear all of his ridiculous werewolf-themed shirts around a fresh audience.”

Stiles laughs and high-fives Scott, because that’s totally true.

Derek makes a sour face, but moves on. “Erica, how about you?”

“Stiles is a good choice, because he already has a—”

“ _Erica_ ,” Stiles cuts in warningly.

“—an excellent grasp of how to hopelessly crush on someone. I’m sure he can make his attraction to you look convincing,” she finishes sweetly.

Boyd, Isaac, and even Lydia say similar things about Stiles’ ability to compile information, and suggest that he’d be a good date for Derek. After hearing everyone out, Derek sighs and says, “Stiles, would you be willing to act as my Potential?”

“Uh, I don’t think we covered this, but does your Potential have to be a werewolf?” Stiles asks warily. It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up needlessly.

“No, of course not,” Derek says immediately.

“In that case, I’d be happy to be your pretend wolf-mate.”

“Pretend _Potential_ wolf-mate,” Derek corrects, smirking. “Everyone else can go, I need to talk this over with Stiles.”

The rest of the pack file out, though Erica stops to pat Stiles on the shoulder and say, “This is a role you were born to play. You’ll do great.” She gives him a wink before she goes, and Stiles can’t help huffing out a laugh.

Derek waits a few minutes by the door, likely making sure everyone else is out of hearing range. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “We’ll have to make it believable—you’ll need to sleep in the same bed as me, we’ll share meals, and…there will have to be a lot of touching. Often.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Is that a euphemism? Are you telling me we have to have sex?” He’s certainly not against that idea, but—

“No,” Derek says, a hint of pink on his cheeks. “I just mean that wolves are very tactile with their Mates—or Potentials—so it would be unusual if we didn’t kiss or hug or hold hands publicly.”

“And you don’t want us to stand out for the wrong reasons,” Stiles says agreeably, though he doesn’t miss the soft, almost longing way Derek says the word _hug_.

“Exactly,” Derek says, nodding.

“Then I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Stiles says, because this is clearly important to Derek. “And I will cuddle with you for the entirety of the convention, if need be.”

Derek rolls his eyes at that, but Stiles can see how pleased he is.

 

*

 

Stiles goes back to his apartment to pack a bag, because Derek thought it would be best if they started getting used to living together right away. The convention is only two weeks away, and Derek wants to make sure they’ll be completely comfortable around each other by then.

Stiles also vaguely suspects that Derek wants him to bring his clothes over so that he can roll around in them until they smell…Derek-y, or something. Or maybe he just wants to try them on, for old time’s sake. Stiles would like to wear some of Derek’s big, soft sweaters, so he can’t really talk.

He also packs a bag of books and movies, along with his laptop, because he knows he’s going to need some kind of distraction. Just thinking about all the snugging they’re going to be doing sets off a bunch of DANGER signals in his brain. He’s pretty sure there’s no way he’s getting through the next few weeks without Derek figuring out just how big of a crush Stiles has on him. And that’s going to be really awkward.

Because as much as Stiles wishes he actually was Derek’s Potential, he’s clearly not. The fact that no one else is, either, doesn’t exactly cheer him up. Because it has to be awful for Derek, knowing that there’s nobody out there who’s suitable for him.

So if doing this can make Derek feel a little less lonely, Stiles figures it’s definitely worth it.

 

*

 

The afternoon at the loft is pretty uneventful, except—  

Except that Derek touches him. And while that normally wouldn’t be a big deal—Derek has literally pulled him out of danger, after all, and has taken his pain many times—but it’s the _way_ Derek touches him that gets Stiles.

He’ll reach out toward Stiles’ shoulder, or his wrist—always where Stiles will be able to see it coming—slowly, hesitantly, almost like he’s expecting Stiles to pull away. Like he’s not sure he’s really _allowed_.

And it makes Stiles’ heart hitch, because this is clearly contact that Derek _wants_ , but is afraid to initiate.

So Stiles tries to encourage him by leaning into it, by smiling when Derek’s arm carefully drapes over his shoulders. But Derek stays tentative, _cautious_ , and as the evening stretches on, Stiles decides to say something.

They’re on the couch, watching one of Stiles’ old Batman movies, and when Derek’s hand drifts nervously toward his thigh, Stiles says, “It’s okay. I’m okay with this.” He wants to say _you don’t have to be so careful_ or _don’t be afraid_ , but Derek is already tensing up.

He looks uncertainly at Stiles for a long moment, then his hand settles, heavy and warm, across Stiles’ knee. Stiles grins and wiggles closer, so he can lean against Derek’s side, and it’s not long before Derek lets out a long breath and relaxes against him.

It’s been a long time since Stiles has felt this safe and comfortable, and he settles into it, contented.

Of course, Derek notices when he starts to doze off, and says, “Come on, it’s bed time.”

Stiles lifts his head off of Derek’s chest, sighs and pats the couch cushion. “You want me to sleep here?” he asks drowsily.

“No,” Derek says, and uses the arm he has around Stiles to make him stand up when he does. “Not when I have a perfectly good bed.”

“You sure?” Stiles says. “We have two weeks.” He certainly wasn’t expecting Derek to start the ‘sleeping together’ phase the very first night.

Derek shrugs. “We might as well get used to it now.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, following Derek up the stairs. “But I have to warn you, I’m a restless sleeper.”

When Derek glances back at him, he doesn’t look too worried about it.

Stiles brushes his teeth, gets changed into sweats and an old shirt, and heads back to the bedroom. Derek is already there, propped up on the headboard and reading a paperback book. He looks so soft and vulnerable there, with his relaxed expression and his hair falling down onto his forehead, that Stiles feels his heart clench.

Derek looks up and catches him lingering in the doorway. “You okay?” he asks cautiously, his eyebrows starting to furrow. “You don’t have to sleep here tonight, not if you aren’t comfortable with it. I can give you more time.”

“No, it’s just—I don’t want to disrupt your sleep.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “And people who have to share a bed with me usually end up pretty annoyed by morning,” he says.

“Well, I won’t be,” Derek says, pulling back the covers invitingly. “And if you do keep me awake, I’ll just take a nap tomorrow. No big deal.”

“All right,” Stiles says, and then yawns before he can say anything else. He _is_ tired.

And the bed is pretty big, so Stiles figures he can keep away from the edge without encroaching into Derek’s space too much. He turns on his side and curls around his pillow, trying to will himself to stay in the same spot all night.

He doesn’t, of course.

But it doesn’t actually seem to matter.

Stiles has never shared a bed with someone like Derek—no matter which way he moves, no matter which direction he flings his legs, Derek just moves with it, adjusting himself automatically.

Stiles wakes up at one point and finds that he’s sprawled at an angle, stretched across the bed almost corner to corner. It’s strangely comfortable, and he realizes quickly that it’s because one of Derek’s thighs is tucked under his knees, taking pressure off of his lower back. He’s pushed his feet under Derek’s other leg, and his toes are nice and warm.

Derek doesn’t seem bothered by the contact, so Stiles goes back to sleep.

He wakes up another time to find that he’s leaning back against Derek, who is supporting him, even while he sleeps. Stiles considers rolling over, moving away, but Derek’s chest is warm and comfortable against his back, and one of Derek’s hands is gently curled around his hip, so he just closes his eyes instead.

When he wakes up in the morning, feeling surprisingly well rested, it takes a moment for him to realize that he successfully shared a bed with someone—as far as he knows, neither of them got kicked or elbowed. He’s tempted to snooze a little longer, but Derek’s not beside him anymore, and Stiles wants to know what he’s up to.

He stops in the bathroom first, though, making sure to brush his teeth before he heads downstairs.

He finds Derek in the kitchen, in front of the stove. When he hears Stiles come in, he turns and smiles. “See, I told you not to worry.”

Stiles doesn’t tell him that worrying is practically his job, at this point. He’s sure Derek already knows.

Derek walks over and leans in, gently brushing his stubbled cheek against Stiles’. He smells like cinnamon, and Stiles wants to bury his face in Derek’s neck and never leave. “Traditional greeting between a wolf and their Mate, or Potential,” he explains, then steps away again.

“Um, okay,” Stiles says, clearing his throat nervously. “Do I need to, like, wear your clothes or something?”

“You can if you want to,” Derek says, looking amused. “But it shouldn’t be necessary. Us spending time together should mix our scents really well, or at least enough for another wolf to accept you as my Potential.” He points to the stove. “I’m making oatmeal, you want some?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, blinking a little at the change in topic. But Derek doesn’t sound too worried about the scent thing, so Stiles decides not to be, either.

 

*

 

Stiles asks Derek later, after he’s had breakfast and a shower, if it’s okay to reciprocate—if he can touch Derek the way Derek’s been touching him. Because he wants to be _sure_ , before he leans his cheek against Derek’s shoulder, or before he walks up behind Derek and wraps his arms around him.

He might be a little touch starved, and he suspects Derek might be too, but still. He doesn’t want to do anything Derek’s not comfortable with.

“You can,” Derek says softly, looking away. “I especially like to have my hair played with,” he mumbles, looking embarrassed.

That night, while they’re watching tv, Stiles gets Derek to lay down with his head in Stiles’ lap. Then he slides his hand into Derek’s hair, finding it pleasantly soft and silky between his fingers. He traces the edge of Derek’s hairline, gently massages the back of his neck, then slowly cards his fingers forward and back again.

The contact must be soothing, because Derek falls asleep there, curled as far into Stiles’ lap as he can get, nearly boneless with relaxation.

He traces his fingers across the breadth of Derek’s shoulders, the muscle surprisingly yielding under his hands, and then trails them down the curve of Derek’s ribs, awed by the strength he can feel there, even now.

There’s a lot of emotions welling up him in him as he gazes down at Derek, his body lax and completely trusting under Stiles’ hands. He’s sure, if Derek awoke now, his heart would give him away.

Instead, he leans his head back against the couch, and goes to sleep.

 

*

 

He wakes up to Derek’s hand, resting warm and heavy on his chest. He realizes, after sleepily looking around, that he’s upstairs, in bed. Derek must have carried him, and he missed it because he was asleep. How disappointing.

Before he dozes off again, he covers Derek’s hand with his own, tucking his thumb against Derek’s palm. It sends a soft feeling of comfort through him, and he lets his eyes flutter shut.

 

*

 

Stiles goes out on the balcony the next afternoon, and hangs his feet out over the edge, letting the wind ruffle his hair. He keeps his legs tucked under the railing, and leans forward to smile at the city spreading out before him. He feels good. _Happy_.

Derek joins him after a while, and hands Stiles a book filled with post-its and page markers. “It’s stuff I thought you’d want to know,” he explains. “I marked the most important parts, and made some corrections too.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, turning the book so he can read the faded title on the spine. He smiles when he sees that it’s called Werewolf Etiquette and Social Structure. “Thank you.”

He starts flipping carefully through the pages, and stops on a chapter entitled Meetings Between Werewolf Packs. On the post-it next to it, Derek has written _now called conventions_. Curious, he starts reading immediately.

 

*

 

Derek gets Stiles to work out with him, and despite his protests and complaints, he actually enjoys it. Derek is kind of notorious for doing angst-fueled workouts, so it’s nice to see him doing pull-ups while smiling a little.

He follows Derek through sets of pushups and sit ups and a bunch of other exercises he doesn’t even want to give a name to. It’s clear that Derek has a routine, and Stiles is pleased to find that he keeps up pretty well, even if he can’t do as many reps.

Derek walks him through some stretches afterward, and Stiles can’t help noticing that he smells _really_ good. Nobody should smell that appealing while they’re covered in sweat, but somehow Derek does. He catches himself trying to lean in and get another sniff, and wonders if this is how werewolves feel all the time.

Personally it makes Stiles feels like a weirdo, but thankfully Derek doesn’t seem to notice his…interest. And when he offers to let Stiles have first shower, he doesn’t hesitate to take him up on it. He needs to get away from Derek’s _pheromones_ or whatever, before he does something really embarrassing.

 

*

 

After a week of them cuddling on the couch and sleeping in the same bed, along with all the casual little touches in between, Derek decides to call Scott over.

“I want to know what we’d smell like to a wolf that hasn’t been around us recently,” Derek explains when Stiles asks why. “I want to make sure our scents are compatible.”

“Can’t you tell that yourself?” Stiles asks curiously, and doesn’t miss the odd little change in Derek’s expression. It’s subtle and brief, but it’s there.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Derek says, shrugging it off. “I’m too acclimated to our scents.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, because Derek seems a little agitated. Maybe he’s getting tired of having someone underfoot all the time.

And admittedly, Stiles has had to adjust to that, too. But that’s mostly because he’s sure he likes this situation _too much_ , being in Derek’s space almost non-stop, and he knows it’s going to be difficult to go back to the way things were.

And it’s only been a week.

He’s definitely screwed.

Scott shows up a little while later, and reels back as soon as he walks in the door. “Whoa,” he says, blinking in surprise. “You guys smell _really_ good. It’s kinda intense,” he adds, rubbing his nose, “but still.”

“That’s because we’ve spent so much time together here,” Derek says. “But there’s nothing discordant or strange about our scents?”

“No,” Scott says, shaking his head. “Not at all. It’s hard to describe, but you smell sort of…sweet and warm. Like herbal tea with honey, or something.” He shrugs. “Nothing weird to me.”

“Thank you,” Derek says. “I needed to make sure.”

“Of course,” Scott says, smiling sunnily. “You’re going to leave the day before the convention starts, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to. It’s a seven hour drive,” Derek says. “And the letter mentioned that they’d have a room for us available on Friday if we wanted to use it.”

Scott nods, and pulls Stiles into a quick hug. “You’re gonna have a really great time, don’t worry too much,” he murmurs before letting go.

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles says, and playfully ruffles Scott’s hair before he steps away. He does appreciate the sentiment, though.

And it reminds him that, even if he ruins his not-quite-relationship with Derek because of his feelings, at least he’ll still have friends to support him.

“We’re all gonna come and see you off,” Scott says cheerfully. “But I’ll let you get back to your snuggling now.” He’s out the door before Stiles can get out a reply.

“You know,” Derek says slowly, speculatively. “I _am_ in the mood for an afternoon nap.”

Stiles grins.

 

*

 

The convention is only two days, Saturday and Sunday, so he gives Derek a disbelieving look when he says to pack more clothes.

“I already have four shirts in the bag, Derek,” he says wryly. “How many more could I need?”

“First of all, you need something better than this,” Derek says, holding up one of Stiles’ plaid shirts. “There’s going to be a nice dinner Saturday night, and this isn’t going to cut it.”

“Plaid _is_ nice,” he huffs in response, mostly just to mess with Derek. “But yeah, I’ll pack a dress shirt. In case there’s something a little more casual, though, you should let me borrow one of your Henley’s. They always look good.”

Derek freezes for half a second, then says, “I don’t think it’d fit right. But if you really need—”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Stiles cuts in, since Derek seems a little flustered. “I promise I won’t steal too much of your wardrobe.”

Derek can’t quite hide his amusement at that, and shakes his head. “You’ll also need something warm to put on. Werewolves tend to run hot, so most humans find the convention to be quite chilly. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he says, shrugging.

“I’ll make sure I can bundle up,” Stiles says agreeably, because he does get cold easily. He strolls casually to Derek’s dresser and pulls a couple of sweaters out.

“I thought you _weren’t_ going to steal my clothes,” Derek says, eyebrow raised.

“Just these,” Stiles says cheerfully. “You have the best sweaters. They’re _so soft_.”

Derek watches Stiles rub his cheek against the soft material, looking uncertain. “It’ll make you smell more like my Potential anyway,” he says gruffly.

Stiles can’t say he minds that a bit, so he just shrugs. Derek watches him for another moment, then wordlessly brings a couple more sweaters over before leaving the room.

Stiles immediately puts one on, feeling nice and snuggly, then carefully packs the rest with a smile.

 

*

 

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Stiles asks. His face is half-buried in Derek’s pillow, but he knows he’ll be heard anyway.

“I was thinking we could get an early start. Maybe leave by 8 am?” Derek says, sitting on the bed next to him.

Stiles gives a muffled groan, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. It’s not exactly late yet, but he still wants to be well-rested, especially if he’s going to have to spend hours in a car. He tends to get squirmy and short-tempered when he’s tired, and it’s worse when he’s confined to a small space. He wants this trip to go well; he doesn’t want to make Derek miserable.

So he needs more sleep than an eight o’clock departure will afford him.

Derek gives a quiet chuckle. “You obviously have strong feelings about this,” he says, sounding amused. “I just want to make sure we don’t get there too late. How about we leave at ten, instead?”

Stiles makes a noise of assent, but doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t want Derek to see him grinning.

“Well, I’m glad we got that settled,” Derek says, his hand stroking warmly down Stiles’ back. “And I know you want to get some rest. I’ll be back once I’ve finished up downstairs.”

He feels the bed shift as Derek gets up, hears his quiet footsteps receding, but he stays right where he is a little longer, feeling strangely contented. But before he drifts off, he remembers to text the rest of the pack and update them on the new departure time.

 

*

 

Stiles digs through the bag of goodies the pack gave him at their send-off. There’s snacks and puzzle books—Sudoku and crosswords—and even a Rubik’s cube. And it’s probably for the best that they included stuff like that, because he’s mostly had to entertain himself. Derek hasn’t exactly been talkative.

He’s digging through the center console, looking for a pen, when he suddenly notices how _tense_ Derek is. His shoulders are stiff, his jaw clenched, and his hands are gripping tight around the steering wheel. They’re not in heavy traffic, and they’ve only been on the road a few hours, so he knows he can’t have annoyed Derek that much already.

Derek generally has a pretty high tolerance for his antics, anyway.

So it must be something else, and Stiles is pretty sure he knows what.

“Hey,” he says carefully. “I read everything you marked for me in that book, and I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. I’m not going to screw this up for you.”

Derek glances over, his expression full of surprise. “I’m not worried about _you_ messing anything up,” he says. And though he has to look back at the road, he reaches over and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder reassuringly.

“Oh,” Stiles says, leaning into the contact.

He spends the next hour reading out crossword clues, and they solve several puzzles together. It takes a while, but eventually Derek stops sounding like he’s giving the answers through his teeth, and begins to smile instead.


	2. Chapter 2

They make good time, because it turns out that on back country roads, Derek is kind of a lead foot. He really puts the Camaro’s horsepower to good use.

“I figure we can check in, then find somewhere to eat dinner,” Derek says as they pull into the hotel parking lot. “Unless you filled up on snacks?”

“I can always eat more, regardless of how many snacks I’ve had,” Stiles says smugly. “Besides,” he adds, checking his watch, “it’s not exactly dinner time.” It’s only four-thirty, which is a little too early to eat for anyone under the age of seventy.

“Would you rather just order up room service later?” Derek asks, grabbing their bags and heading for the front entrance.

As tempting as that is… “Isn’t there some kind of werewolf get-together thing tonight?”

“There’s a social later, with snacks and drinks, but it’s intended for the younger wolves,” Derek says, shrugging.

“You’re _not_ that old,” Stiles says firmly, following Derek through the front door.

“I mean that it’s for young, _unmated_ wolves,” Derek says. “Since I have a Potential, it would be unusual if we didn’t…spend the night in,” he adds with a wink.

Stiles feels his mouth go dry at that, and trails Derek to the front desk, trying hard not to imagine exactly what would happen in their room if he really _was_ Derek’s Potential. He mostly fails.

They’re checked in by a woman who gives Derek a toothy smile, and Derek gives her one in return. It’s not aggressive, though, more of a way to show what you are without revealing your eye color.

She hands them a schedule before they go, and Stiles scans it for any changes as they walk to the room. “Looks like the panel discussing human-werewolf interactions has been moved up a half-hour,” he says, taking the stairs slowly so he can keep reading. “Ooh, I didn’t see this before—there’s going to be a get-together for all human Mates and Potentials. I should totally go,” he jokes.

But Derek looks back at him, and seems completely serious when he says, “You should. You’d probably find it interesting, at the very least.” He pauses. “Unless it conflicts with a panel you want to attend?”

Stiles rapidly checks the schedule, hesitating partway up the flight of stairs. “Nope. It’s after that stuff is over.”

“Then you should go,” Derek repeats encouragingly. “You can even wear your Werewolves Are Sexy shirt,” he adds, smirking.

“You’re kidding, but you should know that I would definitely do that,” Stiles says, laughing, and hurries up the last few steps and out into the hallway.

“I have no doubt,” Derek says, keying open the door to their room.

Stiles eagerly follows him inside. “Whoa, this is really nice,” he says, wandering through and absentmindedly letting the door swing shut behind him.

There’s just a single king bed, but that’s what Stiles expected, and he’s used to sleeping next to Derek, anyway. “Hey, this bathroom is huge!” he says excitedly, peering inside. He’s pretty sure he and Derek could easily fit in the tub together. Which is definitely wishful thinking, but he can’t help it.

“The convention’s only for one weekend,” Derek says. “So I think everyone likes to go all-out, make the most of it.”

Stiles nods, then steps very close to Derek and whispers as quietly as he can, “Hey, do I need to call you babe or something while we’re in here? How thin are the walls?” _Are we going to have to fake sex noises?_ he refrains from asking.

“This hotel and convention center are owned by a group of werewolves. Which means that not only is this a safe place for us to be ourselves, but it also means that the rooms are a lot more sound-proofed than usual,” Derek says at a normal volume. “But you can call me ‘babe’ if you want to,” he adds teasingly.

Stiles laughs and flops back on the bed, trying not to groan at how good it feels after being in a car all day. “Whatever you say, babe,” he says as sweetly as possible, and that’s as far as he gets before Derek smacks him with a pillow.

 

*

 

They end up walking to a little diner a block away, and Stiles gleefully orders breakfast for dinner. Derek ends up following his lead, and gets himself a waffle. With a side of bacon, of course.

“So,” Stiles says, nudging Derek’s foot with his own under the table. “You excited? Ready to meet a bunch of other werewolves tomorrow?”

“I’m a little nervous,” Derek says, scratching at his stubble. It makes a pleasant rasping sound. “There’s going to be an informal breakfast tomorrow, so we should be able to meet some people before I have to go to my first panel.” He smiles. “And I feel a little better about it, knowing my Potential will be there.”

“Yes, I definitely will be,” Stiles says reassuringly, and doesn’t miss the expression of relief on Derek’s face.

He leaves his foot pressed against Derek’s for the rest of the meal.

 

*

 

Stiles isn’t exactly sure what to expect from their first appearance at the convention, but his cynical side is surprised by the kindness they’re greeted with.

The moment they step into the lounge, a woman walks over to meet them. “You must be Derek Hale,” she says, extending a hand to him, palm up. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

She really _does_ sound pleased, and Derek must hear it too, because he places his hand in hers without too much hesitation.

“I’m Luisa from the Tucson werewolf pack,” she says, her fingers curling gently around Derek’s hand before releasing it. “Oh, and you’ve brought your Potential,” she says with a smile, turning to Stiles.

“Yes,” Stiles says, and introduces himself. “I’m happy to be here.”

“Well, feel free to help yourselves,” Luisa says, gesturing to the buffet table. “I’ll let you both get some food. You have plenty of time, the first panel isn’t for another hour.”

“Thank you,” Derek says warmly, and Luisa gives them another smile before walking away. “I think she’s one of the organizers of the convention,” he says quietly as Stiles scoops cereal into a bowl.

“Oh,” Stiles says, pausing a moment to sneak a look at Derek’s face. “It was nice of her to come and say hello, then.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, sounding pleased. He picks up a couple of muffins, and glances around the room. “It feels good, to be around so many others,” he says softly.

Stiles nods, because he gets it. Though they are essentially surrounded by other werewolves right now, it doesn’t feel threatening at all. It feels _safe_.

And he suddenly realizes why being in a pack is so important to Derek.

Why Derek longed for it so much that he was willing to turn—and mentor—a bunch of lonely teenagers.

Stiles quietly eats his breakfast, and watches Derek bask in the friendly atmosphere.

 

*

 

They head to the Pack Structure presentation first, mostly because Derek wants to hear about a pack of all-betas that started up in Maine a few months ago. Stiles is interested too, but he’s still feeling some lassitude, so he leans his head against Derek’s shoulder, nuzzling a little with his cheek.

He’s nice and cozy in Derek’s dark green sweater, because the convention _is_ cold, just as Derek predicted. He pushes up the sleeves a little now, though, because Derek’s heat is seeping into him, helping to keep him warm. He doesn’t want to fall asleep, so he starts tracing idle patterns on the tender skin of Derek’s forearm. Derek makes a low rumble of pleasure at that, and shifts a little closer.

Stiles is mostly paying attention to the speaker, and the gentle movement of Derek’s muscle beneath his cheek, but he does catch a younger werewolf giving them a smile that seems almost fond.

Stiles smiles back.

 

*

 

After the talk is over, they head to the large, open area in the middle of the convention center, where many of the werewolves are milling around, talking excitedly to each other. Stiles figures this is the one time of the year they get to have a lot of in-person communication, and they’re clearly making the most of it.

He’s about to ask if they should go introduce themselves, when a woman starts heading their way. Her eyes widen before she even gets within ten feet of them.

“My,” she says, glancing between them. “Aren’t you a good match?”

Stiles isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a rhetorical question or not, and sends a confused look Derek’s way.

“Thank you,” Derek says, but Stiles can see the uncertainty there.

He doesn’t seem to know what else to say, so Stiles jumps in. “We’ve been told we make a pretty good pair,” he says with a wink.

“I’d agree,” the woman says. “And I’m so glad to see you here, looking so happy,” she says, giving Derek a smile and a soft pat on the shoulder, then wandering off to another group.

Derek watches her go, eyes narrowed. “She seems kind of familiar. I think maybe she’s from one of the southern California packs. I remember visiting them when I was a little kid.”

“Well, it certainly seemed like she remembered you,” Stiles says. He’s just glad that everyone’s been friendly so far. Derek hadn’t been sure what their reception would be like, and that had put Stiles a little on edge.

That anxiety is starting to dissipate now, though, and he runs his hand down Derek’s back, hoping to reassure him. He gets a fond smile in return.

They end up meeting several other wolves, some with their Mates in tow, before Derek gets called away. The other members of the panel want to brief Derek on the guidelines they’re supposed to follow, and confer with him on the kind of questions they’re expecting from the audience.

Derek promises to be back as soon as possible, but Stiles isn’t too worried about it. He doesn’t need Derek around all the time, even if his presence is comforting.

He decides to do some people-watching, and heads over to one of the couches pushed up against the wall, flopping down with a sigh. He gets a little time to marvel at just how attractive most werewolves seem to be, before there’s someone heading his way.

It’s a younger guy, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s the one from the panel earlier.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” the guy says, sitting down on the other end of the couch. “I saw your wolf over there,” he says, indicating the hallway Derek disappeared down. “Heard him talking to some of the other panel members. He really knows his stuff,” he adds appreciatively.

Stiles can’t help the little thrill that goes through him at the phrase _your wolf_ , though he tries to play it off. “Yeah. It took some time, but he ended up being a really great pack leader.”

“And I’m sure you helped a lot, since you’re his Potential,” Luke says easily.

Stiles can’t think of what to say to that, because sure, he did help Derek learn to communicate better and to realize he had other people to rely on besides himself, but he certainly wasn’t doing it as Derek’s Potential. More as an awkwardly pining friend.

Luckily, Luke keeps talking, and he doesn’t have to say anything. “You guys are such a great match, both physically and socially,” he says, nodding. “I’m surprised you’re not his Mate yet.”

Stiles blinks in surprise, wondering if it’s normal for werewolves to be this forward, while simultaneously wondering how Luke could know that they’re a good match _physically_. Stiles doesn’t even know that, but he can certainly hope.

Luke must notice Stiles’ reaction, because he says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. You just seem really good together.” He shrugs, looking apologetic. “Have you realized that everyone keeps coming over to talk to you guys because you smell amazing together?”

“Uh, no,” Stiles says. “Didn’t know we were that, uh, _aromatic_.”

Luke grins. “A pair’s scent is much more subdued once they’re Mates. But since you guys only have a Potential bond, your scent is actually enhanced. And it helps that you’ve obviously known each other for a while.”

“We have,” Stiles agrees. “You werewolves really rely on your noses a lot, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Luke says, still smiling. “You can tell a lot about a person—often more than your eyes can tell you—from their scent.” He looks away for a moment, his head tilting. “They just announced that the Integrating Bitten Wolves panel will be starting in ten minutes.”

“I’d better get going, then. I want to get a good seat,” Stiles says, looking the direction Derek left in. Sure enough, he materializes back out of the hallway, and gestures Stiles over. “It was nice talking to you, Luke,” he says, then makes his way across the room.

To his surprise, Derek pulls him into a hug as soon as he’s close enough. “I’m still a little nervous,” he murmurs into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles tries not to make too big of a deal out of it, but Derek actually _seeking_ the comfort he wants is still a novelty.

“I wouldn’t worry, you’ve gotten a lot better at talking,” he says, just to hear Derek’s quiet huff of laughter. “You’re gonna do great. And I’ll be right there in the audience,” he adds, running his hands down Derek’s back.

Derek pulls away a little, smiling. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you in there,” he says, and kisses Stiles’ cheek before he goes.

Stiles flushes, then tries to rein in his reaction. He shouldn’t get this flustered by Derek at this point, but somehow it still happens.

“You’re so cute together,” someone says in passing, and Stiles laughs, following the crowd into the panel room.

 

*

 

Derek’s panel is going great, Stiles is pleased to note. He shares the answering responsibility well with the other four members at the table, and talks about his experience with teaching bitten wolves in a way that’s both interesting and educational.

Stiles is so proud of him he could burst.

Derek looks confident and beautiful under the bright lights of the stage, and Stiles can’t take his eyes off of him. If he had werewolf hearing, he’d bet that he’d hear several hearts fluttering when Derek smiles out at the audience.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with Derek.

And for once he can actually gaze adoringly at Derek the way he always wants to, since everyone here already thinks they’re together. It seems like everybody knows how Stiles feels except Derek himself, considering the comments he’s gotten here at the convention, and all the encouraging texts he’s gotten from the pack.

He does try to tamp down on his emotions as the panel comes to a close, because he’s afraid Derek will realize that Stiles hasn’t exactly been _pretending_ this whole time.

“How did I do?” Derek asks, walking over as everyone starts to file out.

“Amazing, you were great up there,” Stiles says with a smile, his eyes catching on the hint of color on Derek’s cheeks.

“Thanks. I feel a lot more confident about doing the other panel, now,” Derek says, looking pleased.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got this,” he says, but his encouragement is undercut by the loud growl of his stomach.

“It’s definitely lunch time, too,” Derek says, grinning. He loops his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and pulls him out of the room. “Let’s see what they have in the food court.”

Stiles leans into him and slides his arm around Derek’s waist, content to let Derek guide him along.

 

*

 

After lunch they attend a few more panels, as well as a video lecture on the History of Werewolves. Stiles takes careful notes of everything, mostly because he doesn’t want to face Lydia’s wrath if he comes back empty handed.

By the time the film is over, it’s nearly time for the Human Mates and Potentials social.

“I’m going to head up to the room, I’ll get our stuff ready for the dinner tonight,” Derek says. “But you should go, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes at Derek’s encouraging smile. “Here, you can take these back, too.” He hands off his folder full of notes, then strips off the sweater and presses that into Derek’s arms. He’s warmed up some, and he’s hoping the room for the humans will be a little less chilly.

Derek eyes Stiles’ shirt, then shakes his head. “Well, they might appreciate your sense of humor.”

The front of Stiles’ shirt says _Werewolves, Not Swearwolves_. And the back says _Fuck That, Swearwolves For Life_. It’s pretty classy.

“I can only hope,” Stiles agrees, trying to play off the nervousness he feels.

He and Derek part ways, and Stiles heads down the hallway to the designated meeting room. He pauses in the doorway, surprised by the sheer number of people already crowded onto the scattered couches and armchairs. It feels like everyone must know each other, considering the amount of talking and laughing that’s happening, and it makes Stiles feel out of his depth.

It suddenly hits him that the only person he actually knows at this whole convention is upstairs, in their hotel room. He feels abruptly, painfully alone, and considers bailing right then.

But someone calls out, “Oh, you must be Derek Hale’s Mate,” in a friendly voice, and that changes his mind.

“Potential, actually,” he says lightly, stepping inside and looking for the speaker.

He’s waved toward the middle of the room, where a group of people are clustered tightly together. A couple of them shift to make a narrow space on the couch for him, and he cautiously takes it.

“I’m Marie,” one of the women says with a smile.

“And I’m Clint,” says the guy Stiles is sitting next to.

The rest of the group goes around introducing themselves, then they look at him expectantly.

“Um,” he says, when he realizes what they’re waiting for. “I’m Stiles, it’s nice to meet all of you.”

But they still seem to be waiting for more, and Stiles isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. Marie must catch his helpless look, because she smiles and says, “Some of us were at the panel today; Derek did very well. It seems like you have quite a wonderful wolf.”

Stiles preens a little, for Derek’s sake, especially when several other people speak up in agreement.

“It’s customary to brag a little about your Mate,” Clint murmurs conspiratorially. “And we all want to hear more about him anyway.”

Stiles isn’t totally sure if Clint is joking or not, but the eager way everyone’s looking at him makes him think he’s probably not. Stiles isn’t quite sure what details are public knowledge, and how much Derek would be comfortable with him sharing, so he skirts that line cautiously.

He mentions the fire very briefly, but focuses more on what Derek’s achieved, how after he lost his family, he managed to build a new one. How they worked together to combat threats, including a pack of rogue alphas. How Derek carefully chose people who would be most helped by the gift of the bite, then trained them, taught them. Looked after them.

Stiles realizes suddenly that he’s rambling, and abruptly stops, apologizing for taking up so much of their time.

“It’s okay,” Marie says. “It’s obvious that you care very much for him, and that’s nice to see.”

Stiles feels himself flush, and he nods. It’s true. It had taken him a while to understand Derek, to appreciate him, but he certainly does now.

“And none of us knew much about Derek Hale, though some of our wolves had heard more,” she continues. “So it was good to learn about him, not just from a member of his own pack, but from his _Potential_. Thank you for sharing that with us.”

“Thank you for listening,” Stiles says sincerely. He can’t help feeling a little guilty, though, that he’s managed to convince all of these people that he really is Derek’s Potential.

Someone else starts talking about their Mate then, and Stiles realizes that, much like with the werewolves, these people likely only get to meet face to face once a year—so they utilize the time to share their love of their Mates, and bask in the words of others. It’s lovely, how much unity and caring fills this room.

He feels far more comfortable here now, and he leans back and listens as the next person starts talking about their wolf.

 

*

 

Stiles heads back to the room with a warm happiness in his chest, and his phone full of contact numbers, just in case he ever has any questions.

When he walks in, he sees that Derek really has ironed his dress clothes for him. But he obviously finished that a while ago, because now he’s lying in bed, propped up on pillows and watching a nature documentary.

Stiles immediately flops down next to him, resting his head on Derek’s chest. He smiles when Derek curls an arm around him and pulls him closer. “Did you have fun?” he asks.

“I did,” Stiles says, grinning. “I bragged about you a lot.”

Derek laughs, and it’s a pleasant rumble against Stiles’ cheek. “Oh? How’d that go over?” he says, and Stiles can hear the amusement in his voice.

“It’s actually standard practice, I guess,” Stiles says, wiggling a little to get more comfortable. “And I think a bunch of them are half in love with you now, so that’s my bad.”

“It’s a good thing they’re already taken, then,” Derek says, carding a hand through Stiles’ hair.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “But jokes aside, they were really nice. They made me feel welcome there.” He shifts, slinging his leg across Derek’s. “I am wondering, though, what the difference between a Potential and a Mate is. Like, do you have to get married? Make a pact under the full moon?”

“No,” Derek says, his hand settling on the back of Stiles’ neck. “A Potential becomes a Mate when they decide to take the claiming bite. It’s typically done with the rest of the pack present, as part of a ceremony. The bite won’t turn you, but it _will_ subtly change your scent, making your status as a Mate known to all werewolves.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. He’s never wanted a bite from a werewolf, but he’s starting to reconsider that now. He can’t think about it too much, though. He’ll give himself away. “How much longer until we have to get ready?” he asks instead.

“About an hour,” Derek says. “Why, are you going to take a nap?”

Stiles hadn’t really been planning to, but now it sounds like a good idea. “I’m just going to rest my eyes,” he says. “Wake me up when it’s time.”

“Of course,” Derek says, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair again.

Then he turns down the volume on the documentary, and pulls the blanket up around him. Stiles drifts off feeling contented and cared for.

 

*

 

Stiles hesitates in the middle of buttoning his shirt. “Hey, do I need a tie? Because I forgot to bring one.”

“No, you don’t—” Derek starts, looking a little embarrassed. “It would be best if you didn’t wear one, anyway. Leave your shirt open at the neck.” Then he busies himself with putting on his own shirt. “No one else will be wearing one, you’d look out of place,” he adds, digging in his bag for something.

“Werewolf aversion to neckwear wasn’t mentioned in the book,” Stiles says, amused, but leaves the top button of his shirt undone anyway.

“It’s not that we dislike them,” Derek says, turning back to face him. “It’s just a gesture of trust, to leave your throat exposed. A bit of an archaic one, but still.”

“Okay, good to know,” Stiles says, and moves in front of the closet mirror to make sure his shirt isn’t tucked in crooked.

Then he instinctively turns to the side, checking himself out. These dress pants are _definitely_ doing his ass some favors. Derek, in the middle of pulling his own pants on, starts laughing at him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. “Hey, I gotta make sure you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me tonight,” he says, winking. “I have to at least _try_ to keep up with your handsomeness.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” Derek says, and there’s a soft note under his teasing that makes Stiles flush with pleasure.

Then Derek steps closer, so he can look in the mirror, too. “Do you think I should style my hair?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“Dude, this is _your_ werewolf party,” Stiles says, smirking. “Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” He ruffles his fingers through Derek’s hair. “But if you want my opinion, I think you should leave it like this.” He likes it when Derek doesn’t use product, because then it’s soft and so nice to touch.

He affectionately scratches his nails down the back of Derek’s neck, then steps away before he can get too distracted. “You ready to go?” he asks.

“ _I_ am,” Derek says, smirking. “But you don’t even have your shoes on.”

“I knew that,” Stiles grumbles, grabbing his dress shoes and shoving his feet into them.

When he straightens up, Derek is holding his hand out, a little smile on his face. Stiles slides his fingers between Derek’s, squeezing softly.

“Let’s do this fancy thing,” he says cheerfully, just to see Derek roll his eyes.

Derek keeps ahold of his hand all the way to the ballroom, his thumb occasionally stroking along the edge of Stiles’ wrist.

They’re seated next to strangers, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He’s more interested in food than conversation at this point. Though he does still make an effort to be friendly, for Derek’s sake.

The dinner is delicious, and has less meat and more vegetables than Stiles would have ever expected. He ends up taking second helpings of almost everything. While they’re eating, a separate dessert table is set up at the end of the room, and Stiles drags Derek over to it as soon as it’s ready.

“You’re not even done with your food,” Derek protests, but lets himself be pulled along anyway.

“I was done enough,” Stiles says firmly. “There’s like fifteen different kinds of cake here, and I need to try as many as possible.”

Derek laughs, but he still helps Stiles carry a bunch of the little plates back to their table. He also keeps sneaking bites, while Stiles pretends not to notice. After a while, everyone eating at a more normal pace start heading for the dessert table, but nobody brings back as much as Stiles. He takes that as a point of pride.

Once all the cakes have been raided, and all the plates of food are cleared, there’s even more socializing. Apparently werewolves are far more talkative than his interactions with Derek have led him to believe.

The tables are moved close to the wall, leaving the middle of the ballroom clear for everyone to mix and mingle. He and Derek make a few rounds, hand in hand, and they’re just about to approach some people Stiles met earlier when Derek gets called away.

“It’ll only be for a few minutes,” Derek says apologetically, then he’s heading across the room.

But Stiles is noticed and pulled into the group he was heading for anyway, so he’s not too bothered, even when he gets introduced to _even more_ people. He meets wives and husbands and significant others, and in return he gets casual comments about him and Derek.

He supposes he should be glad they all sound approving, but he has to wonder if meddling is a secret werewolf trait he never knew about.

Derek returns just as someone offers to show Stiles pictures of their children, and he tries not to be obviously grateful for the rescue. Derek pulls him in and nuzzles his neck, his stubble-beard surprisingly soft against his skin. He presses a kiss there before he pulls away, and Stiles feels his heart skip a beat.

Those two weeks at Derek’s loft were supposed to prepare him for these little casual touches, so he can’t be reacting to every one of them like they’re brand new.

Like they’re not making him ache with everything he feels for Derek.

Derek doesn’t seem to notice, though, and just curls an arm around Stiles’ waist and guides him to the next group of people.

“Derek, your potential is so lovely,” says someone.

“You were lucky to find such a good match,” says someone else.

There’s questions about their lives in Beacon Hills, about their pack, about everything, really. Stiles thinks it’s kind of nosy, but Derek takes it in stride, answering easily and asking similar questions in return.

Stiles spends most of that time leaning against Derek’s side, glad that he seems willing to carry the conversation without much help. And he’s far more polite and tactful than Stiles would be anyway, so it’s probably for the best.

He’s never been great at socializing, but he finds it especially taxing over long periods of time. So he can’t help feeling relieved when some of the other guests start leaving, and Derek suggests they make their exit too.

Stiles spends the walk back to their room feeling tired and somehow wrong footed, like he’s missing something that everyone else knows. He doesn’t figure out why until Derek pushes open the door and gestures him inside.

Everyone he’s talked to today has been sure that he and Derek are a great match, that they should really be Mates already.

But Derek had claimed that he didn’t even _have_ a Potential. But maybe he does, after all.

Maybe he just didn’t want it to be Stiles.

He sits heavily down on the bed, his chest aching. Everything seemed like it was going so well, but maybe Derek had known all along that he’d never feel anything romantically for—

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asks, coming out of the bathroom and obviously catching sight of his stricken expression.

“No, I’m not,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand over his face. “You told me you didn’t have a Potential,” he grits out, tired of these games Derek must be playing with him. He wants the truth, even if it’s going to hurt.

“I don’t,” Derek says, a strange, almost vulnerable tone in his voice. He sits down cautiously next to Stiles, looking confused.

“They why is everyone so sure that I’m yours, then? Why do our scents blend so perfectly?” Stiles asks raggedly. “Did you just not want it to be _me_?”

Derek looks suddenly worn thin, like he’s showing everything that’s been weighing on him. “I did,” he says. “I _do_. But I was never sure.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles demands, his heartache shifting toward anger now. “How could you not be _sure_?”

Derek swallows thickly. “After everything with Kate happened, after she destroyed my life, I was devastated. And more than that, I felt _betrayed_ by my senses. They’d let me be fooled by her, they’d let me be tricked.” He shakes his head. “After Laura and I fled, I was so angry with myself that I started suppressing my senses. I was sure I couldn’t trust them, so what use were they?”

“You were punishing yourself,” Stiles says, shocked, staring at Derek’s pained expression.

“She made me _hate_ being a werewolf. She made me hate who I _was_ ,” Derek manages to get out, like he’s being torn apart. “So I practically shut myself down for months and months, and I lived like I was human. But later, when I ended up needing all my abilities back, well—my senses were never really right again.”

And Stiles understands that, because werewolf powers might be great at healing a lot of physical injuries, but they can’t fix psychological trauma. Sometimes he forgets just how much Derek carries, because he always holds himself together so well. But now he feels like he’s finally seeing everything that Derek’s pushed down, tried to hide, and though it hurts, he’s glad Derek is telling him.

“So I can’t catch a scent or follow a trail as well as I should be able to, and others can sneak up on me more easily than I’d like,” Derek continues, letting out a sigh. “When I’m in immediate danger, my senses usually become heightened, but when I’m not—”

“It’s hit or miss?” Stiles finishes when Derek hesitates.

“Yeah. So sometimes it seemed like you were my Potential, but the scent was so faint to me. I thought it might just be wishful thinking, since I couldn’t even be sure you had feelings for me at all.” He looks away. “I didn’t want to fool myself again, so I just…waited. Though that obviously hasn’t worked out too well for me, either.” He laughs a little, but it sounds self-deprecating.

“I’ve…I’ve had feelings for you for a long time,” Stiles says quietly, his eyes tracing Derek’s face. “I just always assumed that you _knew_. That you knew, but you just weren’t interested in me. And these past few weeks have been amazing and awful, because I wanted to be your Potential _for real_. I still want that,” he adds softly.

Derek looks at him then, and reaches out, tracing his thumb along Stiles’ jaw. “You _are_ , okay? You have been, all this time. I just didn’t know it until now.”

Stiles leans into his hand, and then after months, _years_ , of longing, he finally gets to kiss Derek. It’s soft and careful, but it settles something in him just the same.

When he pulls away, Derek looks flushed and happy, and he’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

“I know it’s kind of sudden, considering,” Stiles says, his fingers gently stroking the back of Derek’s neck. “But I’m in love with you, and I want to be your Mate.”

“Okay,” Derek says easily, like Stiles hasn’t just proposed werewolf marriage. “But we can’t do that here, we’ll have to wait until we’re back with our pack.” Then he smiles so bright that Stiles can’t help echoing it.

Derek leans in and kisses him again, and this time it’s deep and full of heat. “I’ll be your Mate,” he says. “I love you, too.”

 

*

 

The next day, when several people mention that they seem even more in love than before, Stiles just grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
